


The Truth About Heaven

by Destina



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-21
Updated: 2007-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Supernatural nears the end of its run, Jared and Jensen have careers and relationships waiting for them. Trouble is, all they want is each other, and a string of quiet epiphanies changes everything.  (Written in 2007.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth About Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_j2_bigbang in 2007; posted to AO3 in June 2015. Thank you to Bone, audrarose, girlmostlikely and annalazarus for their wonderful betas. Thanks also to killabeez and barkley for cheerleading and helpful comments, zortified for catching an important detail, and also elynross, who is very cute with her inability to not beta, and also very helpful. 
> 
> Art for this story was made by gottalovev, who was such a pleasure to work with. Her art post is [here](http://gottalovev.livejournal.com/66748.html). Thank you, Lou!

_We shall not cease from exploration_  
And the end of all our exploring  
Will be to arrive where we started  
And know the place for the first time.  
\-- T.S. Eliot 

**I.**

 

At first, when things begin disappearing from the set, Jared thinks nothing of it. Some factor of loss on set is inevitable, the same way people mysteriously lose half their socks in the wash. Bits and leftover pieces from previous episodes go into the ether: one of Sam's bloody jackets, and some random tapes from the box inside Impala #1, including the Motorhead tape Jensen sat on and crushed the very first day of filming. 

Reality finally registers with Jared, though, when he's standing there looking at the empty space beside Jensen's chair, the place where his chair had been the day before. Apparently some greedy souvenir-grabber thought he wouldn't need it anymore, and they aren't far wrong. The whole awesome ride is almost over. Things are winding down; there are only a few more weeks until the end. 

End of series, end of show. The End. 

Jared sighs. The night before, they'd been up shooting in the rain until almost 4 a.m., with Jensen's intermittent sneezes keeping Jared awake. Jared's tired, and his _chair_ is gone, and if he were a lesser man he might throw a full-on hissy fit and demand another one right now. But that's not him. Never has been. No matter what comes next, he promised his momma he'd never be that guy who yells at the PAs and has M &M clauses written into his contracts. He gets paid plenty, and the work makes him happy. And the people. He's going to miss the people; they're like family. All of them. 

But especially Jensen. 

He's not thinking about that, though. Not now. He's got scenes to get through, and every one of them is going to be rough, from now 'til the day they wrap. 

There are walls and poles and cars all around, plenty of crap to lean against, so he props himself up on a rolling cart and sips his coffee in peace. He could go back to his trailer, but he has set call in ten anyway, and he wants to be in the middle of things. He doesn't have much longer to enjoy it. 

"Dude, what happened to your chair?" Jensen's fresh from makeup, his hair still quivering a little from Jeannie's vigorous scalp massage, and he's hovering in front of his own chair, like if he sat down he'd be committing some kind of breach of etiquette. Or maybe like it'll disappear out from under him. 

"Somebody stole it." 

Jensen clutches at his chest. "Is nothing sacred?" When Jared laughs, Jensen touches the amulet he's worn since day one on the set. "Dude, this is out of control. I'm going to start writing my name on stuff I want. Or maybe glue. Glue's good." 

"Kim's not gonna like it if you glue down the Impala, man. Those tires are pretty expensive." 

"He's got four others to choose from. He can have those. One of them is mine. Speaking of what's mine...." Jensen settles back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, wiggling his ass for effect. Jared looks at the set of his shoulders, the grin on his face, and he's struck by the realization that there won't be much more of this. No more joking around in the wee hours; no more cracking on the day's celebrity gossip, or bitching about the coffee, or throwing candy at each other as they cross the set. 

Maybe it shows on his face, because Jensen pauses in the middle of scrolling through his messages and asks, "What's wrong?" 

"Nothin'," Jared says. He turns his back and swigs down more of his coffee, and tries to focus on the day, the job, the script. Three more weeks. It'll be gone in a flash. 

The day's shooting goes without a hitch, except for how Jensen is starting to look like he's been without sleep for about a year. Jared has this crazy idea that if they filmed one more day without a break - 33 and counting, on the day Jared realizes they've rolled over into a new month - Jensen's head might actually explode. They both put up with a lot of work without complaint, because they really do love their jobs just that much, and it's the last season. They bitch about the little things, to compensate: not having enough hot water in their trailers, or spending seven days in the same Sam-and-Dean clothes while they shoot scenes in the freezing rain. The bitching makes it bearable and gives them teasing material - it keeps them sane. 

But then Jensen stops bitching altogether around ten in the morning. He slouches in the makeup chair, getting his touch-ups and staring down into the dark depths of his coffee like it's going to grow into a sucking whirlpool and swallow him up. Jared checks his email and watches Jensen from the corner of his eye; not once does Jensen open his mouth to grouse about the weather or the shooting schedule or about the 4AM call. Not a peep. 

They've been going home every night after midnight, grunting goodbye to each other when Jensen slides out of the car in front of his building. Jared goes to his own place and to the bedroom he's come to hate just a little because he never sees it, leaves his clothes strewn across the floor and falls into bed, unconscious before he even hits the pillow. 

This is the life they signed on for, but it's getting old, and Jared's ready for it to be over. Some of it, anyway. The long hours, the location shoots, the ever-evolving scripts; those things he'll be glad to see the end of. 

Other things, not so much. 

 

**

Four p.m. in Jared's trailer, and they're sprawled across the couch. Jensen's got a handful of Cheetos curled against his belly and a diet Pepsi in the other hand, balanced on his thigh. Steady rain is beating down on the trailer's flat roof. Outside, the lighting guys and DP are trying to make sunshine in place of the real thing, which has taken a powder. 

Jared shifts, knocks his knee gently into Jensen's, gets back a sleepy murmur in return. He plucks the soda out of Jensen's hand and sets it on the table. 

"Hey," Jensen protests, reaching out his hand, but Jared smacks it. 

"Shut up, you're almost asleep." 

"I'm not. Was watching." Jensen sits up with effort, spilling Cheetos from his loose grip, and blinks steadily until the fog seems to clear away from his eyes. Jared grins, because he knows it's a losing battle, no matter how hard Jensen fights to stay awake. 

One finger pointed at the TV, Jensen says, "Man, Nic Cage would have been a crappy Superman." 

Jared nods and snags a stray cheese puff from where it's nestled between the couch cushion and Jensen's ass. "I bet that kid grew up ugly, too."

"Aw, what kind of thing is that to say about a baby?"

"Well, she's not a baby anymore!"

"Nah, she's jailbait now." 

That makes Jared laugh, and he tips his head back and looks at the ceiling. Beside him, Jensen's breath evens out again, and he slowly munches his way through the mound of Cheetos. Jared pops his scavenged Cheeto into his mouth and sucks on it until it goes soft and the cheese flavor turns bitter. "It's been raining for hours," he says. 

"Years," Jensen says, chuckling. "One thing I will not miss is the damn rain."

There's rain in Texas, but it's summer-warm in Jared's memory, not the freezing damp he's grown used to in Vancouver. The cold didn't bother him the first three years; that seems like a long time ago. "I'm not going to miss constantly staying in hotels, either."

"Or flying everywhere all the time."

"Or the Vancouver airport."

"That, too." Jensen reaches out a hand and deposits a couple more Cheetos on Jared's chest, then proceeds to lick his sticky orange fingers clean. Jared catches himself watching Jensen's tongue loop around each one, fingers disappearing between Jensen's lips, and snaps his head back front and center, because suddenly he's warm from his cheeks down to his chest.

Jensen reaches over and wipes his hand on Jared's shirt. 

"You punk," Jared says, turning back to him with an incredulous grin. "Keep your spit to yourself, man!"

"My spit is highly prized in two countries," Jensen says, already maneuvering to get away from Jared, who is slowly reaching for his shoulder to punch him. 

"Yeah, not by me." Jared's punch lands somewhere around Jensen's rib, because he's thrown his arm up to protect his laughing face. Jensen kicks over on the couch and throws his legs over Jared, and lays there, looking at him, eyes scrunched up on the tail end of that laugh. 

Jared leans back and lets his arm fall over Jensen's knees. "What are you going to miss, really?" he asks, watching Jensen's face. 

On the TV screen, credits are rolling by, white on black, inevitable. Jensen stuffs a pillow under his head and scoots down, making himself at home on Jared's couch, with Jared as a footrest. He thumps the heel of his boot gently against Jared's knee. 

Jared picks at a string unraveling from one of the many holes in Jensen's jeans. He pulls Jensen's legs in tighter, comfortable with their weight. 

**

No matter how hard Jared tries, he can't stop laughing. 

Twelve takes, a stern lecture from Kim, and they still can't seem to nail the last scene of the day in the Impala. It's something about the dialogue, the earnest adoration Sam has for Dean; Jared's been singing that song so long that he can barely resist making bad romance novel jokes every time he gets a new script. Today, though, it's Jensen's fault; every time Jared looks at Jensen's face, Jensen wrinkles his nose like he smells something bad and makes Jared lose it completely. 

Kim's irritated, Jensen's playing innocent, and Jared wants to save this moment forever - the smell of rain and hot metal in the air, the snickers and giggles of the exhausted crew, and mischief sparkling in Jensen's eyes in spite of it all. 

Take thirteen, they hit their mark, Jared gets his hands around the steering wheel and tries to maintain. He gets out one line. Just one. That's when Jensen pops open the glove compartment and pulls something out. "I picked a little something up at the Kwik-E-Mart," he says, brandishing some KY in a white tube. "It's just five hours to Vegas." 

Jared's still hunched over the wheel, tears in the corners of his eyes from the non-stop laughing, when Kim calls it over for the day. He sits back in the seat and pulls a hand over his eyes, then clambers out of the car. "Dude," he says, packing the word full of admiration. 

The tube of lube hits him in the ear and sets him off again. 

Ten minutes later, Jared's peeling an orange by the craft service table as they pack up the hot food. Jensen's retrieved the lube and has it sticking out of his front shirt pocket. He stands next to Jared and rattles some granola into a cup, tipping the cup to his lips for a bite. 

They both have places they could go. Jensen has been bitching for weeks about needing a free hour to run errands. Jared thinks about suggesting the gym, then decides against it. He thinks of Sandy's plane, which has probably already landed. If he hurries, he could pick her up at the airport. 

He peels another section of the orange and drops it in Jensen's cup. Jensen squashes it down in the granola and bites into the coated slice of orange, juice dribbling down his chin. His tongue catches a bit of it at the corner of his mouth. 

"You should come to my place for dinner," Jared says. "Sandy's coming in tonight. She'll cook."

"So, sandwiches?" Jensen says, but his eyes brighten, and Jared likes to see the spark of interest in his eyes, not that dead-tired look he's started to hate. 

"Shut up," he answers. "Like you cook."

"I totally cook," Jensen says, like mortal offense has just been given. 

"Hot Pockets and popcorn do not count, Jensen, shut up." He turns toward his trailer, shucking off Sam's jacket as he goes. "And bring some good beer, and some wine for my girl."

"Define good," Jensen calls after him. 

**

Sandy's waiting for him at his place, looking cute in grey sweats and a tight green t-shirt. "Hey you," he says, picking her up off the couch for a kiss. She smells like fresh apples, and she's laughing into his skin. 

"It took you long enough," she says, as he sets her down and flops down beside her. 

"Long shoot." Jared's hungry, and the first thing on his mind to say has to do with Jensen coming over, but he knows that won't go over well. Sandy loves Jensen to death, but her time with Jared is supposed to be sacred, and Jared learned a long time ago to respect that. 

Might be why he's feeling guilty just now; those unwritten rules get him into trouble sometimes. 

Sandy snuggles up under his arm, but she doesn't seem to have much to say, so Jared strokes her hair and thinks about that. Once upon a time, seeing Sandy was like opening the floodgates, everything pouring out of him in hours and hours of talk, water smooth over stones. Now they pass most of their time together in lapses of quiet. 

He's a lot less worried about the silence than maybe he should be. 

When she turns her face up toward his, he says, "Jensen's coming over tonight," and watches her smile dim. Not so anyone else would notice, but he's been with Sandy a long time now, and that is definitely a few watts off the normal blinding smile. "That okay?" he asks, sure now that it isn't. 

For a moment, he's afraid she'll say no, and he's even more afraid of what he might do if she does. 

"Sure," she says, smile back up to full intensity. No pout, not even a teasing reprimand. She sits up, stretching the travel-fatigue out. 

Next thing Jared knows, she's got her hair pulled back in a ponytail and she's puttering around the kitchen, doing Sandy things: pulling down a glass for some juice; absently checking his dishes to see if he really scrubbed them clean or just rinsed them for show; looking in the fridge to see if he bought actual food for her visit. He did - there are peaches and strawberries and sandwich meat, and her pleased smile makes him grin. 

"You didn't think I'd leave you with nothing - did you?" he asks, and her face scrunches up in a smile, part confirmation, part denial. 

"I knew better, baby." She climbs him like he's an obstacle, grappling her way up his body, and he folds her up in his arms and kisses her, soft lips pushing at hers until she's giggling against him. 

She busies herself with mundane things - making some sandwiches, then cutting up carrots and celery. She's a curve of energy arcing across the room, and he stays out of her way. 

In the bedroom, he picks out a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft blue t-shirt, and then he steps into the shower. Sandy's shampoo and body wash is already there in the caddy, clear travel-sized bottles that he opens and sniffs. Apple and jasmine, always the fruit and flower scents. He's starting to like the comforting strength of citrus and musk, scents she never wears, but he's not going to mention it; there wouldn't be any point. 

While he showers, he thinks about the dozen different ways he could spend his post-Supernatural days. He could take a break and travel; he knows already that's what Sandy wants. Or at least, part of what she wants. 

The other part involves rings and cakes and huge guest lists. Jared's not quite on board with that yet, hasn't been at any point since he first asked her out, despite the joint Christmas cards and the togetherness and the almost-marriedness. He thinks he should be there by now, and Sandy thinks so, too, though she's too awesome to come right out and ask him why he's taking so long. 

His momma asked him once, last summer, and when Jared shook his head and couldn't look her in the eye, she petted his hair gently like he was a boy again, and then she let it go. 

There are projects he could do. His agent has been sending him scripts - good ones, with substantial parts, though none of them are leads. He has no idea what Jensen's been getting. The guy doesn't seem to want to share these days, and the closer they get to zero hour, the more Jared thinks Jensen's separation issues are worse than his own. 

He could spend some down time with his family. It's been a while since he's done that. He wants to buy some land near Dallas, stretch out and make room to grow. 

Sandy's face crowds into his head again at the notion of family and home, and he puts a hand on the cold tiled wall, sighs. He rubs his ear where the tube of KY nicked it; Jensen has good aim. Good hands. 

When the water runs cold, it's a relief. 

**

Jensen brings three different kinds of beer and two bags of chips, and Jared sweeps him up into a full-body hug at the door, then passes him off to Sandy. "Where's my sandwich?" Jensen says, and sports a grin and hunched shoulders while he takes his beating from Sandy's tiny fists. 

They've done this a hundred times, so there are familiar patterns, predictable. Jared and Jensen team up to rag on Sandy's sandwich skills, but then shower her with praise for feeding them; Jared and Jensen down some beers and argue or tease or insult each other about anything that comes to mind, from the kind of beer Jensen's drinking (Moosehead) to the way he eats carrot sticks (shoving them in the side of his mouth and gnawing with his back teeth like Bug Bunny instead of biting them straight on). 

When they reach the part of the evening where Sandy asks Jensen about his love life and Jensen plays coy, things don't play out according to the script. "So who've you been seeing?" she says, like she has a million times before. Most of the time Jared knows the answer and he smirks at Jensen over the top of Sandy's head, brotherhood, solidarity, secrets shared in the fifteen hours a day they spend in each others' pockets. He waits to see what Jensen will say, how much truth he'll give her. 

But this time, Jensen says, "Aw, Sandy. Come on."

Jared turns his head, jaw tight, and looks at Jensen's lowered eyes, the smirk he's putting on for show; he hears an entire untold story beneath that smirk. Jared knew all about Joanna, the way she liked to be fucked, the shitty way she treated Jensen when he didn't dress the right way or behave as she'd planned at events. He knew everything about Tania, even saw them off on their first date after the shoot wrapped on Scarecrow. He's heard everything about every girl Jensen's banged from that day to this. 

Except for how, apparently, he hasn't. 

They're all laughing and drinking and Jared looks at Sandy's pink cheeks and Jensen's flushed neck and something tilts inside him, the happy feeling sliding away and leaving a blank space behind where it used to be. He sits up on the couch, not exactly sure what the hell just happened, but he feels a change in the world around him, just like he knows when winter slides into spring, not the day or the hour but the soft warmth in the air. 

Jensen's collar is open and he's wearing a necklace, some kind of dark thread with a round silver charm. It rests in the hollow of his throat. Sandy reaches out for it and tugs it, playful, until Jensen falls forward and hugs her, and Jared's looking at Sandy's small hands on Jensen's chest, and Jensen's hands, not small, curved strong around her hips. He looks at Jensen's mouth, at his smile, and he wants them to stop touching each other. Wants Jensen to leave Sandy alone. Only, that's not how the message gets relayed in his head. 

Inside, he hears: _get your hands off him._ Words he doesn't say; a frown creases his face. 

The feeling bubbles up on the heels of the choked-off warning: _not yours not yours he's not yours DON'T TOUCH HIM._

He sets his bottle down with a bang, earning a peculiar look from both Sandy and Jensen. The smile he gives them is autopilot, just this side of panic. He's still trying to sort out the replay when Jensen's expression changes, becomes thoughtful, and their eyes meet. 

Jared thinks of a thousand things to say, but none of them make any sense at all, everything jumbled up between contradictions and confusion in his heart, and Sandy might as well not be in the room. It's fucked up, but it's real, so real and unexpected it makes his heart contract with fear. 

Jensen's his friend. They _can't._ And it's not like he hasn't had that thought before, but it was years ago on the cusp of starting this show and making a career out of it, before he and Sandy were a hundred percent, before he cared about preserving his friendship with Jensen come hell or high water. 

Sandy's right _there,_ right in front of him, but he can't even look at her. His world is tilting slowly, everything going sideways. 

Jared takes a breath, holds Jensen's gaze a fraction of a second more, and then the moment passes. 

Half an hour later, Jensen gets to his feet and snags his keys from the table. "I'm beat," he says, "Got to hit the road." Jared stands up, searching for something to say that isn't _who the hell are you dating_ or _why are you leaving so early_ or _Jensen, what the hell's wrong with me?_ \- and just like that, Jensen throws an arm around his shoulders, a hug to propel him home, and kisses Sandy on the cheek, and he's gone. 

Sandy stands there next to Jared while the space reshapes itself to compensate for the quiet vacuum Jensen left behind. Then she starts cleaning up, pulling bottles from the floor and tables. 

"Leave it for later," Jared says, making a grab for her hand, but she doesn't meet his eyes, and she shies away. 

"I want to be useful," she says, which is no kind of answer at all, and sounds bizarre coming from Sandy, who is always willing to go to bed and cuddle and be. He looks into her eyes and wonders how much of what he didn't say showed itself on his face. 

It's no surprise he can't sleep that night; Sandy curls up in the curve of his arm, a quiet weight against his body, and he's careful not to disturb her. 

 

II. 

 

There are a thousand ways to beat insomnia, and Jensen's tried them all, from hot milk to dropping the temperature to soothing music the likes of which he'd cringe at in an elevator, but none of it works. Lately he's taken to curling up in bed and staring out the window, the sheet wound around his legs where he can reach it, if he actually feels himself drifting off. 

He tells himself it's just exhaustion, that he's overtired, but he knows damn well that has nothing to do with it. Five years of daily work, of pouring heart and blood and sweat into Dean Winchester, of being defined by the show and the character. He can remember when he thought it'd be a relief to be done with it and move on to greener pastures. Opportunities are out there waiting for him. 

The pile of scripts by the bed has gone unread for weeks. He shies away from the idea of making plans; down deep where he can't admit it to anyone, he just wants a break, a space of time to breathe and think and be, and he can't have that if he jumps into the next project right away. 

He squirms in the bed and flips over on his stomach, where he can't see the paper tower. The upside to freedom is the ability to choose not to choose, or something philosophical like that, but mostly he wishes he didn't have to think about it anymore. If he's going to get on with having a career he's going to have to be aggressive about it, and his heart isn't in it. His heart is a little confused, what with it making wild leaps and assumptions about various things. 

Say, for instance, Jared. 

Only he promised himself he wouldn't think about that, so he pushes his arms under the pillow and turns his face down into the fluffy softness, where he can't breathe and it's nice and dark. There's something weird going on with Jared; Jensen's been watching Jared watch him for a couple weeks, and the worst part is, he's been watching Jared back. Not in a weird way, but in an I-can't-help-myself way, and it's freaking him out. He's known the guy for years now, known him so well that he can practically think Jared's thoughts for him. 

He's got friends, a life, stuff he wants. Wanted. Whatever. It's not like he and Jared will never see each other again. It just...won't be the same. 

He flops onto his side and looks at his cell phone. Behind it, the clock is shining a steady blue reminder of how damned late it is: 2:25. 

Jared might still be up. His phone will be on silent if he's in bed, so. Worth a try. 

Jensen picks up the phone and thumbs down to Jared's name in his contacts. 

When Jared answers, his voice is low. "Dude. Do you know what time it is?"

It's like a ten-ton weight has just disappeared from Jensen's shoulders. He rolls onto his back and grins up at the ceiling. "Shut up. You were totally awake."

"So? And? Is this a test?" Jared's chewing in his ear like a cow mowing through cud. 

"What the hell are you eating, man?"

"Ham."

"...just ham?"

"Ham. Out of the little plastic box."

Jensen laughs. "Why not open your mouth and pour the mustard straight in?"

"Don't be jealous because I have food and you're hungry." Jared smacks his lips, then says suspiciously, "Did you just drunk dial me? Is that what this is?" 

"Nah, man!" Jensen smiles down at the street below, where red and white lights shimmer in the wet streets. "Just can't sleep."

Jared's tone changes, softens. "Damn, Jensen. Again? I'm startin' to worry about you. I thought if we funned you up you might actually go home and crash."

"Too much shit on my mind. It's weird, you know? Everything winding down."

"Yeah." Jared's stopped chewing and there's random noise on the other end of the phone, rattling and a hissing sound. 

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Are you drinking a beer?"

"Yes, Jensen," Jared intones. "Now tell me what you're wearing." 

"Pervert." Jensen looks down at his white boxers and white T-shirt. So boring. 

On the other end, Jared's making that sound Jensen recognizes as his way of trying not to laugh out loud, and it works the same magic as Jared's regular laugh; tension ebbs from Jensen's shoulders, and he closes his eyes. 

They fall silent for a few moments, and then Jared says, "You should just have stayed here and played death match chess with me." 

Jensen clears his throat. "Sandy's there."

With a snort, Jared says, "That's never stopped you before. Dude, my couch thinks you own it." 

It's true, and Jensen has crashed there drunk, sick, post-breakup, a hundred times in a hundred different states, with or without Sandy there to make breakfast in the morning. He opens his mouth to say _it's different now_ , but he doesn't know why it is, or would be, or what he even thinks about that, and it isn't, really. Except for how it is. He can feel himself trying to pull away, but he's never held on so hard to anything in his life, and the feeling puts the tension right back in his shoulders. 

"Is there some reason you're shitting on my hospitality?" Jared's voice gets louder, like he's just leaned into the phone, that gesture he uses when he wants Jensen's attention first-hand. "Because I'll have you know, my hospitality is the shiznit." 

That does it. Jensen bursts out laughing, and when he stops, he can practically feel Jared's grin beaming through the phone at him. "Do not ever," Jensen says. "Seriously, ever. Do not. I'm traumatized now."

"Fo shizzle," Jared says, and sets Jensen off again. Something about that damned drawl, which he shares, and the way it catches on the vowels. It's obscene. And stupid. 

When he stops laughing, Jared doesn't waste a beat. "Come on over, man. I mean it. You can't sleep anyway, right?"

"Yeah. No." Jensen wavers, then says, "Talking helps."

"So talk." 

He can almost picture Jared sprawled out on the couch, one hand on his stomach, head tilted back. Jensen swallows and says, "No, I mean...you talking. It's..." The word soothing just won't quite come out, but Jensen knows Jared gets it, because that's when Jared starts talking, a litany of stuff that's so ridiculous and mundane it's perfect. Jensen listens, and grunts every so often, and the last thing he hears before he drifts off to sleep is something about the shine being off the apple, but by then he's just using Jared's voice for a pillow and whatever it was is lost in a sleepy, Texas-drawl haze. 

 

**

Just before the alarm goes off, Jensen's dreaming of Jared in bright blue swimming trunks, kicked back in a lawn chair beside a huge generic pool, sunglasses over his eyes. Jared lifts the glasses and smiles at Jensen, and that's when Jensen wakes to the sounds of morning radio chatter, his phone mashed beneath his face. He rolls over, sheets bunched up in a hard knot under his ass, and thinks about that image of Jared's face, the look in his eyes, the love and want projected out of his dream. He's half-hard, but he wills his erection down, and then helps it subside with a lukewarm shower and a blast of cold at the end. 

He's not going to think about that dream, or Jared's voice, or anything else that could potentially make this day any worse before it's even underway. 

By the time he gets to the set, he's uncharacteristically late, and Jared's waiting for him by the makeup trailer with an anxious look on his face. "Man, I thought maybe you were still in bed," he says, half-hopeful. Jensen knows what Jared's seeing, because he caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror that morning and looked away: puffy sleep-starved face and dull eyes, too much stubble. He looks like he's been on a ten day binge. Shannon's going to have a field day bitching him out. 

Jensen ignores the pointed looks Jared gives him and pretends to be engrossed in his email. It takes three cups of coffee before he can get his brain started on higher functions. It might have been easier to reach consciousness if he hadn't gone to sleep at all. 

There's an email from Paul Kinion, the PA he was friendly with over on the _Smallville_ set, asking if he wants to get together. Paul used to flash his sweet lazy smile on a regular basis, the one that reached his blue eyes, and ask Jensen if he wanted to grab some beers and shoot some pool. Jensen always said no, instinct telling him it wasn't just about beers and pool. 

Maybe this is an opportunity. Maybe he should try to get whatever this thing is out of his system. 

He types _8pm, Callahans?_ and waits, and around the time Shannon starts spraying makeup over his pale face, he gets his answer: _Hell ya, see u there._

When he deletes the email, he glances over at Jared, who looks away at that exact moment and starts teasing Jeannie about the orangey-sweet smell of his hair product, and Jensen's stomach tightens. 

 

**

Take after take after take, Jensen throws his lines to Jared and Jared nails them. He can feel the chemistry flowing, stronger now than it's ever been, no awkwardness between them; it's as if the words were their own, not random consonants slapped on a page by distant writers. This is what he loves; his sentences end and Jared's begin, timing smooth and perfect, pauses that snap at the right moment and become a conversation of equals. He's in the moment totally, meeting Jared's eyes and responding to his smallest gesture, the way he moves, the cues he sees in Jared's eyes. 

This is what it's all about, and this is what he's losing. 

Jared steps toward him, takes hold of him, and throws him against the wall as planned, no hesitation at all. Jensen was out of sync just that one fraction of a second and he twists wrong, hits the edge of the table too hard, and then he's kneeling, one hand curled protectively around his left shoulder. 

"Shit, Jensen!" Jared says, breaking character completely, and then he's beside Jensen, settling him to the ground and peeling his shirt aside to put a large warm hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, the word coming out breathy due to the wind being knocked out of him. But he's okay, really, even if he is a little distracted by the look of absolute panic on Jared's face. 

"Please, please tell me you did not break anything with one week left to shoot!" Eric appears out of nowhere and crouches next to Jensen. "You okay, Jen?"

"Fine." He grits his teeth, because he'd lie about this if he had to, just to prevent the same anxiety he saw on Eric's face when Jared broke his hand a few years ago. Nothing is worse for a show in production than an injured star, and he knows he can fake it. "It's just a few more days," he says, but that's the wrong thing to say, or maybe they just know him too well, because concern flashes in Eric's eyes and he gets out of the way of the medic, and then they're fussing over him and he's helpless to do much about it. 

Jared stays right there, one hand on his leg, and he says, "Jensen, man, sorry." 

"I'm okay," he says, looking up into Jared's face, a little dizzy. "I moved too late. I missed the mark. It's my fault."

"But I threw you too hard," Jared says, his hand tightening on Jensen's knee. 

Jensen smirks. "So you're finally admitting you're a freak of nature with abnormal strength?" 

Some of the tension leaves Jared's body, but he doesn't let go of Jensen, and whether it's guilt or comfort, Jensen's glad he's still there. 

It takes a few more minutes for them to pronounce him unbroken, just bruised, and give him icepacks. Jared lifts him bodily off the floor and hustles him off to his trailer for the lunch break before Jensen can even protest. Not that it would do him much good; there's a parade of nervous PAs and ADs behind them, and so Jensen allows himself the luxury of leaning into Jared, and Jared's arm tightens around him that much more. 

The moment the door slams shut behind them, Jensen says, "Ow, FUCK!" and sits down on the couch, no longer trying to keep the pain off his face. 

"I knew it," Jared says, opening the door again to stick his face out and say something to the nearest trailing PA. Then he's back with Jensen, one hand on his back. "I had her bring some Vicodin. And you're gonna shut up and take it, Jen, I swear, or I will hold your nose and stuff it down your throat myself." 

"And then what?" Jensen sits up, ignoring the shooting pains in his shoulder. "It's not even sprained, Jared. In a couple hours it'll be fine. Pain pills will put me out."

"You need the rest anyway." Jared squints at him, waiting for Jensen to argue, but he's so goddamned tired that he doesn't bother. The knock comes two seconds later, and Jared goes to get it, returning with a pill bottle and a glass of water. "Take them," he says, dishing out two pills. Jensen looks up at him and decides not to fight, seeing as how Jared looks ready to take on an army on this, so he swallows the pills, grumbling under his breath. Token resistance. 

Eric sends word that he's not going to resume the shoot until after four, which Jensen figures gives him just enough time to sleep off the stupid pills. He's fuzzy around the edges and it bugs him, makes the world indistinct and weird, but Jared's still there, and he'd almost forgotten that he was supposed to be worried about how he felt about Jared, or whatever. 

"Nap," Jensen says, and the next thing he knows he's sacked out on the couch with a blanket over him. Jared's sitting on the floor beside the couch, stroking Jensen's hair. He looks at Jared, and Jared looks back, and when Jensen's eyes close, the only thing he can feel is Jared's hand against his skin, the gentle pull of his fingers in Jensen's hair, soothing him quiet. 

 

**

The rest of the day is better. Jensen wakes up alone, no stiffness in his shoulder, and does some pushups to wipe the skeptical look off Eric's face. 

"If you're sure," Eric says. "But I don't want you hurting yourself, Jensen."

"Then talk to the other half of the talent," Jensen says with a grin, pointing across set at Jared, who turns at that moment like he can hear him. Eric rolls his eyes and leaves it alone, and things are back on track. 

Jeff shows up on set at 5 p.m., and he stands quietly to one side while they light the scene. Jensen looks up and sees him talking to Kim and Eric, and tugs at Jared's sleeve, and soon there's hugging and laughter and it's like old times, bits of information exchanged that some knew and some didn't, talk of Harley and Sadie and Bisou and various family members, and Jensen feels everything locking into place. This might be the end, but these people are still family, and it wasn't right until just now, with Jeff here. 

"It's good to be asked back," Jeff says, shaking Eric's hand. 

"It's good you haven't gotten too big for our little show," Eric answers, and they all laugh. Jensen looks at Jeff and thinks about high-flying career paths. Maybe his will follow that trajectory, or maybe he'll end up locked into another series, another cold five years up here in rainy hell. 

He glances over at Jared and wonders how he'll ever make it without him, if he could be lucky enough to find another partner like Jared, who made every day a joy. Then he smacks himself mentally, because he sounds like something out of a pink-cover novel, and it's disgusting. They'll move on. They'll get work. So it won't be like this. So what? Life goes on. 

They finish up their scenes and Jeff wanders over while they're watching the playback of Kim's last take, puts a hand on Jensen's good shoulder and one on Jared's back. "Drinks, boys? I'm buyin'." 

"Hell yeah," Jared says, flashing a huge grin. "If injury-boy can take it, that is. What d'ya say, Jensen?"

"Definitely," Jensen says, thinking of Paul. "I'll meet you guys wherever." 

"Got something else to do?" Jeff says, and Jensen is too conscious of Jared's curious look. Nowhere to run. 

"Just some errands," he says, and Jared immediately looks away, like the lie is visible. For all Jensen knows, maybe it is. 

Their timing is a fraction off the rest of the day, not in a way that would be noticeable to anyone but Jared and Jensen, and Jensen can't fix it. So he doesn't try. He blames it on his shoulder, on his distraction, on wanting to get out of there and hang out with Jeff, but it's all about that look in Jared's eye, and how it seems to accuse him, without Jared saying a single word. 

**

He's late to meet Paul, and it's wrong and mean, but there's a part of him hoping Paul will up and disappear before Jensen gets there, especially since he didn't bother to call to say he was going to be late. But Paul's sitting at the bar in a green shirt and black pants, looking just as hot as he ever did, if maybe a little more tense than Jensen remembers. He comes up behind him and tries for easy, one hand on Paul's shoulder, friendly handshake waiting. 

Paul turns and sees him, and the smile that brightens his face slams into Jensen like a tidal wave, just before Paul hugs his shoulders. "Jensen, man, I had almost given up on you."

"Long day," Jensen says, wincing when Paul pats his shoulder. "Hurt myself."

"Oh, damn," Paul says, snatching his hand away quick as lightning. "Sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah," Jensen says. "Though this might have to be a short night." 

"Okay," Paul says. "Want to get a table?"

Jensen looks around. The place isn't crowded, and there are plenty of places to sit. Figures. "Sure," he says, not able to think of an excuse to go. 

They settle in with a couple beers and make small talk for a while. Paul dishes out gossip about Tom and Mike and the rest of the regulars on the Smallville set, and tells him one spectacular story about James Marsters and one of the married key grips. Jensen laughs in spite of himself. He likes Paul; it isn't that. It's just that somewhere on the other side of town, Jared is sitting in a bar with Jeff, and Jensen's not there, and he knows Jared's thinking about him, and wondering where the hell he got off to. For some reason, that bothers him even more than the nagging urge he has to go be wherever Jared is, to take advantage of their dwindling time together. 

"You haven't told me how things are with you, now that you're about to be out of a job." Paul pushes his empty mug away. "You going to be sticking around up here, or are you off to LA?"

"LA, I guess." Jensen picks a few peanuts out of the dish on the table and pops them in his mouth. "Haven't thought about it much." 

"Aw, come on. You haven't thought about it?" Paul's giving him an interesting look, his eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief, and Jensen chuckles. 

"No, I haven't. I've been busy, you know? Got to close this door before I can open another one." 

"Yeah. About that," Paul says, sitting forward, and pitching his voice low. Jensen tenses from head to toe. Here it comes. "Listen, Jensen. I love your company, but I think you know I'm gay, right?"

"I knew," Jensen says, then wrinkles his own face at the way he throws it into the past tense, like this isn't happening right here, right now. 

Paul nods. "So I think maybe you know I didn't ask you out just to hang out. I get this vibe from you, and I could be wrong, and maybe you don't trust me enough to say, but...you know. I'd be just as happy to leave here right now. If you want." He sits back again, smiles that heartbreaking smile. Damn, but his eyes are blue. "Or we can play some pool and I can kick your ass." 

Jensen decides in the time it takes him to look around the bar. There are people watching him curiously - he's not a regular here, and he's not exactly the invisible kind of show star, not even in production-laden Vancouver. This is the edge of the cliff, and everything in him screams _back up, what the hell are you doing,_ so he does. 

"One game," he says, closing the door. 

Paul nods. "One game." There's disappointment on his face, and Jensen thinks he's right to be, that a few hours before he was leaning toward leaving, but his mind won't take him past the threshold of the bar with Paul, and he can't help it. Doesn't want to. 

He checks his watch every five minutes or so through the game - which he wins handily, courtesy of the on-set coaching he got from the guy who used to help Rosenbaum set up Lex Luthor's shots - and still makes time to joke with Paul, because it isn't his fault this whole thing is so stupid. Paul buys him a couple shots and Jensen meets his eyes when he tosses them back, a world of apology in simple gestures. 

He even slides an arm around Paul's shoulders and pats him on the back when Paul loses, and likes the way Paul glances up at him, half-knowing, half-wanting. It's power, and he's not exactly immune to it; he's exercised that power with women his whole life, and this isn't much different. 

Except for the part about how he's not going to let Paul get him naked. 

_Yet?_ his dick says. 

_Ever,_ his brain tells it firmly. 

He bails out early, because anything else would be weird, and Paul walks him out. Jensen knows he should feel like an asshole, but all he feels is relief. 

That's why the pass catches him off guard. 

They're side by side in the nearly deserted parking lot when Paul moves suddenly, takes hold of Jensen by the hips and pushes him into the side of his truck - not hard enough to hurt him, Jensen knows that, though Paul's hands are firm, and yeah, maybe enough to bruise him. Enough to make an impression, and Jensen's first thought is that Paul read him better than he realized, which just - no. A world of no. 

"What the fuck," Jensen says, a little spark of panic in his soul blooming outward into his heart and body. Paul's reading him right, he can see that; Paul's grip eases up, and he's ready to let go instead of kiss him, but the message doesn't reach Jensen's instincts in time and he shoves Paul away, a split second from punching him. 

"I'm sorry," Paul says, holding his hands up. He actually looks contrite. "I thought...maybe the soft sell wasn't doing it, and you might be wanting the hard sell...I was wrong. I'm sorry." 

"Jesus Christ," Jensen says, still not sure he's given up on the idea of socking Paul in the mouth. This is not what he came out here for. Whatever he was wanting to find, this isn't it. He has no idea what it was, but it's like he has a wall around him now, a barrier Paul sure as fuck isn't getting through, and he can see that finally reach Paul when he lowers his hands. 

"I'm sorry," Paul says again. 

Jensen nods, unwilling to give him anything more than that, no matter how much he likes the guy. He doesn't move until Paul is in his truck and pulling away, and then he climbs into his truck and sits there, looking out at the harsh lights overhead, the intersecting white lines on their slant across the pavement. 

He looks at his watch - 11 p.m. Jared and Jeff are probably hanging out, laughing, having a good time at that dive Jeff loves so much. He can see them clear as day right now - empties scattered across the table ringed by shot glasses, plates scraped clean, laughter and good times, friends catching up on everything important. 

It'd be easy to call Jared, ask him to break away from Jeff and come meet him, tell him everything, confess what a lame asshole he is and find out if Jared's in the same headspace. 

But maybe he doesn't want to know. 

"God damn it," he says, and starts the truck. No way is he going to meet Jeff and Jared now. The phone's been buzzing on and off for a while, probably Jared wanting to know where the hell he is, and that's one conversation he doesn't want to field. 

The phone starts buzzing again, and he pulls it out of his pocket. It's not Jared; it's Jeff. He sighs. One or the both of them are likely to come to his place if he doesn't answer. He's not the type to drop off the face of the earth without explanation. Too much polite Texas boy in him. He flips open the phone and says, "Hello?"

"Jensen, what the hell happened to you? Where've you been?" 

"Hey, Jeff." He doesn't quite trust himself to say more. 

"You missed out. We just left out of there - Jared's on his way home, and I'm going back to the hotel."

"Jeff," Jensen starts, then stops. But maybe he doesn't need to say much more than that, because something in his voice changes Jeff's tone altogether. 

"Is something wrong?"

He could still hang up, play it off. "Do you mind if I stop by?"

"Of course not. Are you okay? I want you to answer me."

"Yeah." Jensen takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Now why don't I believe you," Jeff says. "I'm going nowhere other than into the shower, so stop by whenever. Sutton Place Hotel, room 1716. Don't make me hunt you down."

"Okay," Jensen says. "I'll...okay."

When he hangs up, he puts both hands on the wheel to stop the shaking. 

**

Jensen knocks softly on the door of Jeff's hotel room, half hoping Jeff will actually be asleep and they can pretend later that Jensen changed his mind. It doesn't work that way, though; Jeff opens the door a couple seconds after Jensen taps, looking a little rumpled in his t-shirt and jeans, but wide awake. "Hey," he says, big smile beneath the greeting. "Took your sweet-ass time."

For a second Jensen pictures saying, _sorry, man, I'm really too tired to spill my guts._ Or just making a break for the elevator. But Jeff would probably pick him up by the scruff and haul him back, so he squares his shoulders and stands his ground. 

Jeff steps aside. "You comin' in, or what?"

Jensen smiles and follows him inside. Jeff's suitcase is thrown on the luggage rack, clothes hanging out of it in various stages of being put away. The bedspread is half on the floor, half off, and the script's squarely in the middle of the bed among piled up pillows. It's what all of them do; shuttle between places with clothes and scripts and cell phones in tow, creating spaces for themselves where they won't feel so out of place, but it never works for Jensen. When he's perpetually between locations, he's never home. 

Jeff tosses him a bottle of water and eases back on the couch, leaving Jensen with his choice of chairs. "I have to say, my friend, I was worried about you after I saw you on set, and now that I'm getting a good look at you, I think I was right to be."

Red velvet chairs. Jensen sits down on one and finds they're as soft as they look. He shrugs off his jacket and begins picking at the label on the water bottle. He's peeled ninety percent of it off, a shredded pile of blue and white confetti at his feet, when Jeff says softly, "We've known each other a long time, Jensen. Whatever it is - it's okay."

"It's Jared," Jensen says, not looking at Jeff. And then he finds he can't say any more, not because he doesn't want to, but he's not sure what to say. 

"I figured," Jeff says. 

Now Jensen does look up, because he's curious. "Figured how?"

"Because of how he's lookin' at you lately. How you were lookin' at him today." Jeff pulls off his shoes one at a time, dropping them on the floor, and stuffs his socks inside them. "Wasn't sure I was reading you right. I figured if something was going to happen with you two, it would have run its course long before this." 

Jensen slides the water bottle between the cushions and puts his head down in his hands. His head hurts, from tiredness or maybe worry, or the effort of sharing things he hasn't really worked through himself, and now he feels like he has his confusion painted across his forehead or something, where anybody can pick it out across a crowded room. "Nothing's happened," Jensen says. "It's...what you're seeing...I know what you're thinking, but nothing's _happened._ " 

"Ah." Jeff gets up and breaks open the mini-bar, rummages around and pulls out a few travel-sized liquor bottles. He slings a bottle of Jack Daniels at Jensen, who snags it out of mid-air. "But you want it to?"

"I have no fucking idea." Jensen opens the bottle and drinks most of it in a few long swallows. Warmth slides across his chest, down to his belly, and it has the desired effect; he sighs and lets the booze start to work its relaxation magic. 

"Jensen, no offense, but aren't you a little old to be having this kind of epiphany?"

"It's no epiphany." Every word burns his throat; he doesn't know how he'll get it out, or what Jeff will do when he does. "When I was younger, there was...I was...I knew I had those leanings. But it's just been women for like ten years now. I haven't..." 

Jeff waits for him to finish the thought, and when he doesn't, Jeff says, "What about Jared?"

"I don't know. I've only ever seen him with Sandy." That's two lies, right in a row, and Jensen realizes it as the sound of them dies in the air. He does know. He knows because Jared leans toward him anytime he's in a room; he knows because Jared's hands are always on him, and Jared's smiles are different when they are for him, and he's probably always known, always reveled in it and wanted it. It probably makes him a liar and a hypocrite, because every picture of the two of them has shown he's the one thing Sandy couldn't compete with. To her credit, she's never tried. 

Then again, Jensen always saw Sandy and Jared as set in stone. He wonders if she sees what Jeff sees. If it bothers her that there's something between them, something they never put a name to. The thought makes him wince. He loves Sandy, and his stomach turns at the idea of hurting her. 

Jeff seems as steady as he ever has, like none of this fazes him, like he doesn't care that Jensen just confessed to wanting his best friend and being at least a little gay, and Jensen is so grateful, he actually feels tears of relief in his eyes. Jeff sits down on the corner of the bed, facing Jensen, and tosses back a few swallows of vodka. "So why now? What's changed? Or is it that the show is about to wrap?"

Jensen nods and finishes off the rest of the JD, then slides it in with the water bottle and rubs at his eyes. "I guess." 

"You..." Jeff stops, clears his throat, and starts again. "You're sure it's really Jared, and not that you're wanting something Jared is safe to give you?"

Jensen's whole body is trying to answer that question for him, just like it was earlier in the bar, but suddenly it's like it speaks a different language. He's the most confused he's ever been, and it's making him restless. He stands up, jams his hands in his pockets. "What are you asking?"

Jeff looks at him without speaking, long enough that Jensen feels like a bug under a magnifying glass. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough and low like sanded glass. "I'm asking if you want Jared, or you want to be fucked by a man and feel like Jared is the safe choice." 

_Oh, hey, wow,_ Jensen's brain says, and _enough with the standing up,_ Jensen's legs agree, and they do their best to buckle under the wave of indignant denial and desire and fear that slams through him. Jeff doesn't catch him, exactly, but he crowds Jensen back against the wall, giving him support to lean against; he puts one hand on Jensen's chest, and waits. 

Neither of them move.

One long, deep breath, and Jensen tries to process this - Jeff in front of him, his expression warm and concerned and open - and the question, which has thrown him because he didn't expect it, or the visceral reaction to it. Why Jeff being so close to him doesn't bother him, and why he panicked with Paul. He thinks it's about trust, but mostly it's about Jared, knows it somewhere deep in a place where there aren't explanations to offer. That's why he turned down Paul. Isn't it? 

He swallows; his head thumps back against the wall. "I've wondered," he says, which isn't what he meant to say, but he has wondered. About a lot of things. About himself, and Jared, and what it means, and whether Jared represents things he's never had, things he's about to lose, if any of it matters or if his body has been running the show all along. About whether he can ever trust anyone enough to find out what really makes him tick. 

Jeff starts to pull away, but Jensen reaches out and snags a handful of his T-shirt, stops him. His pulse throbs against his skin, and when Jeff puts his hand over Jensen's fist, it goes into overdrive. 

"Just because I'm handy?" Jeff says, and Jensen takes a shaky breath. 

"You aren't exactly ugly," he answers, because they both know that handy is the truth, that there's no way to test it but to do this, that he trusts Jeff not to fuck him up somehow, and Jeff's smile just before he puts his hand on the wall and leans in shoots Jensen's pulse up one more notch. 

Jeff kisses him full-out, no tentative half-assed kissing; he pushes Jensen's lips apart, gets inside, gentle licks of tongue that cause Jensen's breath to catch in his throat. Jensen closes his eyes and lets it happen, lets Jeff have full control, from the hand sliding gently under his shirt to brush across skin, to the way his hips push forward when Jeff steps into him, pressing their bodies together. 

The feeling that twists through Jensen - a mixture of relief and sadness, soft desire, a wish that this was Jared's hands, Jared's kiss - answers all the questions. His body tries to ignore him, particularly his dick, which is completely interested -- but he's wise to it now.

When Jeff pulls back, Jensen breathes out slowly; Jeff brushes a gentle hand across his face. "Figure it out?"

Jensen's gaze drops to Jeff's lips, and he grins a little. "You don't make it easy." 

"Wasn't trying to," Jeff said, his face lighting up with that slow smile that's always put Jensen at ease. 

Things sort themselves out pretty quick when Jeff gives him some room. Inclinations confirmed: check. Oh, definitely check. Jared above all others: check. Safe: not the issue. Jeff as the best sounding board in the history of friendship: check. 

He says that last part out loud, and Jeff laughs. "You make it sound like it was some kind of hardship, and it wasn't."

"Er." Jensen hasn't blushed in years, but he blushes now, and then he says, "You, uh. Won't say anything to Jared?"

"That's between the two of you." Jeff sits back down on the bed and pulls his legs under him. "You going to do something about this, Jensen? Or are you just going to pine like a teenager while Jared gets on with his life?" 

"Don't know," Jensen says, full of truth with Jeff's kiss still stinging his lips. 

"Hm," Jeff says. He reaches back for his script and pulls it into his lap. "Your call, but life's too short."

"Maybe, but." Jensen resists the urge to touch his lips. "I've never been as close to anybody as I am to Jared. Good friends are hard to come by. I don't want to fuck it up." 

"You want some platitudes? Like, anything worth having is worth taking the risk for? Or if you love something, grab it by the balls and don't let go?" Jeff grins at him. "That helping?"

"Not especially." 

"Jensen, you knew what you wanted before you came over here. For some reason, you're trying to talk yourself out of it." Jeff points at the door. "The only thing that's going to help you with this is having a chat with Jared. You just need to decide if you think it's worth it. I think it is." 

Jensen's quiet, because he's been talking himself out of it for so long, he doesn't even know how to stop. 

Jeff sighs. "Now get out so I can put myself back in a fatherly headspace." 

"God," Jensen says, face wrinkling in mock horror. 

"Out," Jeff says. He reaches back for his glasses and slides them on, and Jensen wants to laugh with relief, because maybe he doesn't have a plan, or know what to do, exactly, but he knows what not to do. And he knows what he wants. Maybe that's a start. 

"See you on set," Jensen says, and Jeff waves him to the door, already flipping pages to get to where he needs to be. 

Once the door closes behind him, Jensen stands there a moment, gathering his thoughts. There's a week to go, and then there'll be time for everything, a chance to move this thing out of Vancouver and away from the set, and then they can figure it out. 

One more week. 

**III.**

 

Rumors are tricky things. They start out pure, a fusion of truth and juicy lies melded into a sticky-sweet confection too good to resist; by the time they make the rounds, they're covered in dirt, misshapen, no resemblance to the truth anymore. That's why Jared never put any stock in them, before. 

He hears all the dirt from his family - it's just like them to surf the internet and tell him every detail they see. He gets the gossip from his agent, his accountant, from Jensen when he's bored; from the crew and the guest stars and most of all from friends back home, who want to know if it's all true, what they say in the columns online. But he never knows for sure if it's true, and he doesn't spend time thinking about it. 

That's why when it hits him in the face, he can't ignore it the way he'd like; too many people dole out pieces and keep the big picture hidden, and Jared has never been able to stand knowing only half the story. 

First he hears Jeannie and Shannon talking it over in hushed tones when he bangs open the door for his turn in makeup. "...some asshole over there," Jeannie was saying, and "It was bound to happen, it always does," Shannon said, a shocked look on her face. "Do you think they know it's out there?" Jeanie asked, and Shannon was shaking her head when she saw him, when her face turned pale and she stopped cold, conversation dying in the chilly silence. 

"Morning, Jared," she says with a ghostly smile, and Jared wants to ask her. Wants to, but doesn't dare, because Jeannie and Shannon exchange a look, and he knows what that means. Girl talk. Sacred secrets. 

"Mornin!" he says, giving them each a hug, but they don't loosen up the way they usually do, and it's freaking Jared out, they're so quiet. He stands between them and looks from one to another, and says, "What's goin' on?"

Shannon looks at Jeannie, and then she says, "Jared, if we tell you something, will you find a way to tell Jensen?"

That gets his curiosity working, so he scoots past Jeannie and drops down in the hair chair. "That sounds kinda ominous," he says, hoping one of them will smile, but they just give each other that look again, and now he's feeling cold. "Yeah, I'll tell him. What's up?"

"There's a rumor going around," Shannon says. And then she stops and turns red, which pulls Jared back out of the chair. He puts a hand on her arm, and like the gesture is magical, the rest of it bursts out of her. "About Jensen dating someone he works with."

"Come on," Jared says, a relieved smile breaking out. "I've heard a hundred rumors about Jen the last few years. So've you. So what?"

"Gossip's about Jensen dating some guy." 

Jared blinks. He's heard rumors about him and Jensen for years, on the internet especially - even magazines and reporters like to ask them about how well they get along, like they just can't believe two men can be friends and not compete. But it always passes, and those rumors don't run around the set, because Jensen's never done things like that in all the years Jared's known him. Not even on the sly. 

On-set rumors are something new. He guesses they were overdue. 

"Oh," he says, with a deep breath, and clears his throat. "Huh. Not me?"

"Jared," Jeannie says impatiently. And of course, Jared should have known; if it was Jared's name, they all would have laughed it off. Irony is a bitch. 

Jared's scanning every crew guy he can remember in his mind's eye, sorting them out by likely and not. And really, when has Jensen ever made him think he swings that way, anyway? A few sidelong glances at Jared every so often doesn't make him gay. 

But Jensen's keeping secrets from him, and it weirds him out, makes him wonder if this is what made Jensen coy with Sandy. He even wonders for a moment whether this could have a negative effect on Jensen's career, if the rumor spreads, but he doubts it. Truth be told, Jensen isn't a big enough star for anyone to care. Neither of them are. Kind of a sad state of affairs, but that's the way it goes. Jensen won't want his reputation as a ladies' man thrown into question, though; Jared's sure of that. 

"I'll handle it, okay?" he says, and hugs both of them again. He doesn't know how, and maybe that isn't important, but there aren't many days left to shoot, so they can get through this. Jensen will laugh it off. It won't matter to him. 

It matters to Jared, though, and when he tries to stop picturing it, the opposite happens: Jensen appears in his mental theater, naked and spread out across a bed, some random guy all over him. 

It's a half an hour before Jared trusts himself to think about it again. 

**

Eventually, Jared shows up in wardrobe to get fitted for FX blood packs he's wearing in the next episode. They still have a day of shooting - that damned scene in the Impala - for the previous ep, but tasks and needs seems to be blending together now, so it's hard to tell where one thing ends and another begins. 

Jensen shows up on time, yawning like his jaw is broken and with shadows around his eyes. He brought two cups of coffee, and hands the second over to Jared without even asking first. "Morning," he says, cracking a grin, which Jared returns. 

Until just now, Jared wasn't really thinking about how to approach Jensen on this whole secret-keeping thing, but now he is. Maybe if Jensen wanted him to know, he'd know already. But it's bugging him - why Jensen hasn't told him, why it's such a big deal in the first place, why he can't let it go. Every thought generates a question, and Jared feels like an ass for worrying about something that isn't his business. 

Jensen's picking over the shirts he's going to wear for that day's scene, pushing all the blue ones to the left and gravitating toward the green, and so Jared starts fiddling with the straps on the FX pack. Then he says, "We missed you last night."

Head down, fixated on the shirts like he hasn't seen them all a hundred times, Jensen shrugs. "I'm sorry about that. I had some things I had to take care of." Like an afterthought, he adds, "I told Jeff." 

And that's it. No details, even though Jared knows Jensen well enough to know there are details. If he talked to Jeff, it was after Jeff left the bar, or he'd have said so, just to shut up Jared's bitching about how late Jensen was. He takes a sip of his coffee and nods, like he has all the answers, but his throat is burning with swallowed words. 

Jensen casts a look sideways at Jared, asks, "Did y'all have fun?"

"Yeah." Another sip of coffee in lieu of details. Two can play at that game. 

And then he blurts out something he hadn't even been thinking about, much: "Sandy's not coming up for the wrap party."

"She mad about something?" Jensen stops screwing with the shirts and focuses all his attention on Jared, like maybe Jared needs it. 

Jared opens his mouth, closes it, scratches his head awkwardly. The bitch of it is, he has no idea. So it's his turn to shrug, and Jensen's eyes narrow, but Jared isn't hiding anything. 

Not on purpose, anyway. 

"She did seem kind of tired last week," Jensen tells him, which isn't news to Jared, but it's the way Jensen says it. 

"So did you," Jared answers. Which has no relevance to anything, but whatever. "How's the shoulder?" 

"What's that thing about the pot and the kettle?" Jensen smiles at him and pats him on the shoulder. "I'm good. You study your pages?"

"Tried to," Jared says. Every time he looks at the script, it seems to grow another scene he hadn't looked over. There are times he thinks the show is ending at just the right time, because he's getting old and his memory is shot. 

"We can run lines in a minute if you want." 

"Sure," Jared says, and just like that, things are back to normal. He pulls his make-up T-shirt off and takes an undershirt from Pam, then slides on a light blue T-shirt with some random design plastered all over the front in yellow. Jensen chooses that moment to slip off his own shirt and trade out, and just as Jared's head emerges from the neck of his T-shirt, he catches a glimpse of Jensen, diving into his shirt. 

There's a livid bruise on his hip, half-visible above his belt. 

Jared opens his mouth to ask about it, to ask if maybe they should take it easy during the shoving scenes they've got coming up, but some instinct tells him _no no no_ and so he turns his head, tugs his shirt down and shuts up. His heart is punching against the wall of his chest, demanding action, but he picks up his coffee and sips it, and forces himself to be rational. It could have happened a hundred different ways, from a pick-up game with the crew to falling off the treadmill at the gym, and what is his _problem_ , anyway? He's sporting a dozen bruises of his own, one of which was a result of Jensen's knee landing in his back when they threw themselves into a hole during shooting last week. Maybe it happened when Jared shoved him; they were all so fixated on Jensen's shoulder that they could have overlooked it. 

They run lines for twenty minutes in Jensen's trailer, while Jared eats a bowl of Rice Krispies and dribbles milk down his chin. Jensen laughs and stands up to grab a napkin, and there's the bruise again, closer to Jared's face, where he can't pretend it doesn't exist. 

Jared drops his spoon in the bowl and takes the napkin Jensen offers him. He wipes his mouth, one way to seal it, but he's Jensen's friend and there's something off, and so he lifts the hem of Jensen's shirt and blurts it out - "Jensen, what the hell?"

Mid-motion, Jensen freezes, one hand on the box of cereal, the other on his bowl. He glances down at his side, and then over at Jared, doesn't even ask what he means because it has to show on Jared's face. But Jensen shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, leaving all the rest of the stuff he isn't going to say up to Jared's imagination, and Jared's imagination is pretty fucking good. Those bruises are new, and they are the size and shape of...

Jared looks down at his hand, turns it over, palm down, presses it to the table. He stands up. "Jensen, did someone - Who-"

"Jared," Jensen says, standing right in front of him so they're just inches apart, and Jared's face is hot and alarm has the hair standing up all over his body. "Dude, seriously, how long have you known me? Have I ever backed down from a problem?" And Jared knows the answer already, has wrestled Jensen and seen him train and fight, has heard the stories. It's ridiculous. He _knows_ that. 

It's one thing to know, and another to get his heart to believe, because Jensen leans a fraction of an inch closer and says, in a soft voice: "Jared. I'm okay. Everything is okay. Will you just sit down and eat your damn cereal?"

There are two ways Jared can tell when Jensen is lying. One: wait for his reserve to assert itself, for Jensen to avoid his eyes. Two: wait for him to smile, for the mask to slip. Jensen does neither. He meets Jared's eyes, his own eyebrows raised expectantly. Jared looks at him, at the calm steady green of his stare, and nods. Now his face is on fire, and he's embarrassed, because he's just full of fucking assumptions and he's stupid, and - whatever is wrong with him, he'd better fix it quick, before he does something truly dumb. "Sorry. I know it's none of my business. Whatever. I mean, if there's anything, which. You don't have to tell me, I don't...I just-"

When Jensen cuts him off, it's a relief. "Cut it out, okay? I'm not trying to hide anything. You know my entire life's story." 

Jared nods. He does. At least, he did.

"I made a mistake," Jensen says. "And then I took care of it." 

Jared has some idea of what it cost Jensen just to say that much, and it opens up an ache in his chest. Jensen stands there vibrating in front of him for a minute; it's awkward, and Jared has an urge to loop an arm around Jensen and pull him closer. 

So he does. And he's not going to justify that to himself, or try to explain it to Jensen, because Jensen stops that weird quivering; the tension goes out of him. 

Even if there's a part of his life's story he's still leaving out. A part Jared wants to know more than anything he's ever wanted, and he's not going to look too closely at that. Not now. 

"You know I'm gonna ask again later," Jared says, not quite into Jensen's hair, but his hand is flat on Jensen's back and he's rubbing gently, not a pat, but something in between. 

Jensen's very still against him; Jared's not sure if they're still hugging, but he tightens his arms and squeezes, and then they pull apart. 

Jensen picks up Jared's cereal bowl and puts it in the tiny sink, and then he says, "Just...there's...Can we finish this first?" He makes a gesture, encompassing the trailer, the set, the show, the season. The two of them, maybe. Possibly the entire world. "There's a lot...I want to..." He stops, like he's not able to finish his thought. 

"Yeah," Jared answers. There's a clock ticking on the wall behind his head, so loud in the silence that it might as well be inside his brain. 

Jensen sits down awkwardly and picks up his script, and Jared sits down too. Shannon asked him to tell Jensen about the rumor, but maybe it would be better to wait. Jared's getting the feeling Jensen has some first-hand information he should share, and that's a conversation they can't have now. Not here. 

They start running lines again, searching for the right rhythms, and it flows the way it always does, so perfect. Every so often Jensen looks up at Jared, flashes him a smile; Jared grins back, and they are as they've always been, two halves of a whole, a team. 

**

Jeff's presence on the set throws Jared back to the early days, back when they were all still new to each other and Jared had so much to learn. He watches Jeff and Jensen shoot their scene, sees the same intensity in it that he did the first time they ever worked together, but he feels differently now about the work. He knows what he's doing; he's learned a trick or two, figured some of it out with Jensen pushing him to do more, be better. Kim's helped, too, and other directors he's had. He's been so damn lucky, and now when he steps into a scene with Jeff, he can hold his own. He's proud of that. 

Kim calls cut, and Jeff and Jensen wander off the soundstage, Jeff with his hand on Jensen's shoulder, rubbing gently. Jared sighs; he'd been so goddamned preoccupied with bruises and rumors that he didn't really press Jensen about the shoulder. 

"You guys are going to bring down the house with that scene," Jared tells them. 

Jensen ducks his head down and laughs a little. "So long as it doesn't fall anywhere near me," he says. 

"You had enough for one week?" Jeff squeezes Jensen's shoulder, then lets go. 

"Plenty." 

Jared's getting water from the craft services table, so he's not really paying attention, but he hears what Jeff says to Jensen next, though he's speaking softly. "You look a hell of a lot better than you looked last night." 

There's a moment of lag time between hearing and comprehension, a moment where Jared thinks he must not have heard right. Jensen didn't show up. Not at the bar. 

Jeff must have seen him after. In his hotel room. 

Jared sets the water down carefully. No point in telling Jensen about the rumor. Seems like he already knows all there is to know about it. 

When he turns back to them, Jared's smiling. He's had a lot of practice; he's a pro at pretending. He's in the big leagues now. 

**

Sandy hasn't called in the last week, and Jared hasn't called her, either. He's not angry with her; he's not worried about the silence. It's just that he doesn't have anything to say to her, really, and he thinks it's the same for her. The day she left, it wasn't like kissing his girlfriend. It was like kissing his sister, the same kind of sweet chaste kindness when she smiled into his lips, though he couldn't place it at the time. 

Now he's got that sorted out, and a whole lot more besides, and he suspects she sorted it out before she finished packing that weekend. In a way it makes him feel incredibly slow, and a little dumb, because he should be able to figure out he's fallen out of love, right? It shouldn't come on him like a slow freeze; he should know, and he should have done something sooner. 

He puts his phone on the coffee table when he comes home. He goes to the kitchen, gets a beer, comes back, ignores it. He takes a shower, changes clothes, flops down on the couch and ignores it. He flips through a couple scripts, not really concentrating on the words, and ignores it. He circles the room picking up things he's been stepping over for weeks, orbiting the phone like an anxious moon, and finally he stops and looks at it like it's going to ring just because he expects it to. But it doesn't.

In all their years together, Sandy's never been one to do the heavy lifting, or jump the gun. Her patience is legendary. It's part of why he loves her. No reason she would change now. Besides, this is Jared's move to make, and he knows it.

He gets another beer, but he doesn't drink it; he's not going to disrespect her by killing the pain before he calls. 

"Jared?" she says, and her voice is sunshine, hopeful. He clears his throat, searching for the words, and she's quiet. 

"Hey, Sandy," he says finally, and then he looks at the floor. He should ask her to come up, change her plans and make the wrap party, and then they could talk it through face to face. But if she comes up, nothing will change. He should have thought it through before he called, and now he's at a loss for something to say, some way to get through this. 

No idea how long he sits there quiet, but he hears tears in her voice when she says, "It's okay, Jared. Aw, baby. It's okay," and then he's crying, and maybe he's apologizing, and she is, too, but it's not the kind of sorry that says they're going on. It's the kind of sorry that means goodbye. 

He wants to say they'll stay in touch, but even he doesn't believe it, and when she says she hopes he will be happy, he closes the phone and puts his face in his hands, and tries not to hate himself for the way the aching sadness leaves room for quiet relief. 

 

**IV.**

 

The last day of shooting comes and goes in a blur, smiles and tears and hugs and keepsakes, phone numbers exchanged, promises to stay in touch. Jensen collects everything he's given and gives a few things of his own - gifts for the crew, who came in every day and never complained about the hours or the hard work; small keepsakes for Eric, Bob and Kim; an awesome watch for Jeff, which he picked out himself. He has great taste, even if he does say so himself. 

It's a little trickier knowing what to get Jared, and he hasn't figured it out, yet. But he's starting to have an idea. Jared's been quiet the last week, full of intensity he throws into every scene, and more than once he's looked up at Jensen and made tears come to his eyes. It's bizarre and kind of girly, and yeah, he's willing to tease about it, but Jared shakes it off and won't look at him when the cameras stop rolling, and that's not right. 

That's not how they're going to leave things. Jensen has a plan. 

Wrap party is supposed to be right on the soundstage, press and food and booze and happy memories waning into set strike. Shannon's in charge of it, and she gave them their marching orders: 7 sharp, or face the consequences. Jensen's thinking about it in the shower, this last chance to see the people who've filled every day of his life, nine months of the year, five years running. He thinks about it while he picks out his clothes, while he's messing with his hair, while he's jamming in his contacts, and so when Jared bangs on the door, Jensen's got the start of an awesome depression rolling. 

"What the hell took you so long?" Jared asks when the door swings open, and then his face changes because he's confronted by a half-naked Jensen, hair sticking up all over the place, not shaved, stubble from chin to ear. 

"Uh, not ready?" Jensen raises his eyebrows to Mr. Obvious, who walks by and plants himself on Jensen's floor. 

"You're worse than a girl. In fact, you're worse than Lauren, and she's the highest maintenance chick I've ever met." 

It takes Jensen a minute to realize Jared is having some kind of traumatized Gilmore Girls flashback, so he flicks Jared on the ear on his way back to the bathroom. "You're just mad because it's true," Jared calls after him. 

Jared ends up sitting on Jensen's floor, drinking some leftover Sam Adams and playing Guitar Hero with Jensen, who is without a doubt the weakest hero to ever wield a guitar. Not that Jensen's going to admit it. 

"Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude," Jared drawls, slinging his guitar control around in a circle, "we are so late."

"What? Did you say you were lame? Because you so are." Jensen points his guitar at the screen. "And you cheat. You are a huge, very tall cheater." 

"Oh my god, could you be a worse loser?" 

Jensen snorts and falls back on the floor. Right here, this - Jared fishing around for another beer, and the TV blaring crappy music - is perfect, and Jensen thinks maybe he's going to smile all night on the leftover blast of happy. 

"We've got to go," Jared says, reaching down for Jensen's hand. Jensen's lost count of the number of times Jared's hauled him off some cold floor, in and out of character, and they do it like clockwork, a perfect team. "You good to drive?"

Jensen makes little scoffing sounds and pats down every pocket in search of his keys. When Jared dangles them in front of him, he takes Jared's beer and says, "Uh, you drive." 

Jared takes the keys from his hand, but doesn't budge, and Jensen drinks the rest of Jared's beer, standing there in the middle of the room while Jared fidgets. 

Then Jared says, "I've already got a buzz on. Maybe we should stay here, hang out. I'll keep kicking your ass at any game you set up."

_Yes,_ Jensen thinks, _yes, yes._ It's the best idea he's ever heard. But Shannon's his friend, and she's put up with a lot of crap from them over the years. He promised he'd be there. Besides, they owe the network this last appearance. "Come on, man. We can't let Shannon down. How would it look if we didn't show up?" 

"Yeah, you're right." A flicker of disappointment passes through Jared's eyes, there and gone. 

"But we don't have to stay all night." 

Jared lights up in a way that makes Jensen want to throw the lock on the door and toss him down on the couch and illustrate a few things about the benefits of staying home. "Right on," Jared says, making Jensen snicker as he always does when Jared breaks out the right ons and the cools. 

There are about a million people at the party, pressed together like pickles in a jar and just about as much fun. Everyone wants to talk to him, ask him questions, find out about his plans, and even if he had something to tell them, he isn't sure he'd want to share it now. Martinis and beer and mixed drinks are flowing his way, small talk with potential partners and stepping stones for his career, and none of it holds his interest. He's having some trouble staying in the moment. 

"Dude, lighten up," Jared says in his ear, one arm around his shoulders to squeeze him tight. He claps a big hand twice against Jensen's chest and lets him go, and Jensen catches himself leaning back into Jared's space. He straightens up and takes the glass of beer Jared offers him. 

"You going to be good to drive my truck?" he asks, turning a little so he can see Jared's flushed face. Jared's eyes are twinkling, and he seems less worried than he has all week. Jensen's trying hard not to think about how this is the last party they'll go to for the show. From now on they'll have to make excuses to get together, and - 

"Hey," Jared says, and his arm snakes back around Jensen. "What's with that look?"

"What look?"

"You look like somebody's been putting downers in your fruit juice." Jared plucks the glass from Jensen's hand and buries his nose in it, and Jensen laughs out loud, because next Jared's tongue pokes out and he's licking Jensen's beer. 

"Uh, you can keep that," Jensen says, "now that it has your spit."

"Your spit isn't the only spit that's worth its weight in gold," Jared answers, and Jensen wrinkles his nose, and tries not to think about Jared's spit, because that could be dangerous. 

"The network bigwigs are here," Jared says, pointing somewhere to the left. "I think I lost them in the crowd."

"Why would you want to ditch your future employers?" Jensen smirks. "You could have a lucrative series career right here on the fabulous CW." 

"Oh, fuck you," Jared says, twisting a hand around on Jensen's head. "On to bigger and better things, my friend. Swimming pools. Movie stars." 

"Been there, done that." Jensen ducks his head down and smiles. "Think really big."

"Oh, I do." Jared says it low, and when Jensen turns his head, Jared's so close to him that he can't see anything else. "You ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah." Jared's hand is on his back, and he half-steers, half-propels Jensen out of there, his body warm at Jensen's side. 

They're quiet on the drive back. Jensen watches Jared because there's nothing else to do. It's hard to read his body language, but for once, Jared's not in constant motion. He's got a stillness about him that makes him seem older somehow, different than Jensen's used to. Their rhythms are the same; he can still tell what Jared's going to do before he does it, but now he's not quite sure what Jared's going to _say,_ and that's a shift so fundamental he's having trouble processing it. 

It's not until they're getting out of the truck that Jared says, "I'm not with Sandy anymore." He tosses Jensen his keys and then he's standing in the street, one foot on the curb and one on the pavement, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Jensen's breath catches, and he looks at Jared's face for a moment, at the way his gaze is steady on Jensen, no matter how nervous he seems. 

Jensen heads for the front door, keys in hand. Jared doesn't follow, so Jensen stops, turns, waits for him; after a moment, Jared catches up, and they walk to the door together. 

Lights on, curtains drawn; Jensen drops the keys in the basket beside the phone and shrugs off his jacket. Jared follows him into the kitchen, stands beside him and looks into the open fridge, then takes a Pepsi when Jensen pulls out a beer. He sits down at Jensen's tiny kitchen table, pops the tab and watches Jensen roll up his sleeves and unknot his tie. 

"'S why I don't wear ties," Jared says softly, eyes on the patch of skin at Jensen's throat where he's pulling his collar open. He reaches out, takes the tie from Jensen's hand; the teal and black stripes shine against Jared's skin. 

"So," Jensen says. He pops the cap on the beer and leans against the counter. "You and Sandy." 

"It's been a long time coming." Jared picks at the soda tab, plink, plink, plink. 

Jensen remembers the way Sandy seemed sad, last time he saw her, how no amount of smiling could cover that up. Maybe it explains why Jared's been so quiet, too. "Why now?" he asks softly. 

"When is it ever a good time? A clean break is better. End of the show, end of my relationship." Jared's throat works when he takes a long swallow of soda, then puts the can down. "There wasn't any point in putting it off."

Jensen nods. He presses his hands against the counter edge, and falls silent, not because he doesn't want to talk, but he doesn't know where to start. 

Fortunately, Jared picks up the ball again. "I was going to ask you about this rumor I heard, but...I guess it's none of my business." 

"I told you I'd tell you everything," Jensen says, pressing harder against the cold tile. 

"Yeah, but I don't see you talkin'." 

There's another long pause while Jensen sorts it all out, puts things in the right order in his head, and then he takes a long, shaky breath and says: "I had some things to work out." That's not enough, and he knows it, so he comes at it from the side instead of head on. Best he can do. "I love women, you know? Love them. The smell of them, the taste of them, every fucking thing about them. But..." 

"Go on," Jared says, low, his drawl elongating each word. 

Jensen shivers. "I wanted to experiment a little, but I didn't want to pick up anyone from the set. Word gets around. You know."

"Yeah. And anyway, when the hell would you have the time?" 

Jensen winces. He thinks back to the long line - the legendary line - of women he had banged across California, Texas and Canada. He isn't especially proud of how he'd acted when he was younger, and he can't change that, but he's learned to be more discreet. He wants to say all of that, but Jared waves a hand at him. "I shouldn't have said that, man. Sorry." Jared sits up in the chair, no more sprawling. "I get that you wanted to experiment, I do. I just..."

"What?"

"Ah, Jensen, you know what I'm going to ask." Jared stands up. 

Jensen fights against the sudden rush of want that pushes his heart rate up, because they're not there yet. "Ask anyway." 

"Who'd you go to?"

"It doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't." He leaves the rest of it unsaid, but Jensen hears it anyway. 

_I'm right here._

"One of the many things my daddy taught me: Don't shit where you eat," Jensen tells him, like Jared hasn't said the same thing to him a hundred times. 

"You eat with Jeff."

"What the hell does that mean?" 

"It means I know," Jared says, and Jensen frowns. 

"Know what? Jared, man, you're way off. Jeff tried to help me. He sent me -" Jensen stops, not ready to go there. Not yet. "He's not here on set day in, day out. We're not friends. Not that way. And there's Sandy, and, fuck, Jared, how was I supposed to know you would've? That you, you know? Aw, fuck it."

"Jensen." Jared's looking at his hands. "I don't want you to take this wrong."

"Yeah, since the rest of this conversation is going _so well?_ " Jensen tosses the beer bottle in the sink. "Whatever, man. Ask."

"That bruise. I know - I _know_ \- that did not come from Jeff. Tell me it didn't." 

Jensen drops a hand to his waist, where the bruise is hiding. "Jesus, Jared, would you let that go?"

"No way," Jared says. "Is that what you mean by 'experiment'?" 

_"No."_

"Okay." Jared's watching him. "But it came from somewhere, and you fucking blew me off when I asked you the first time."

"I chose wrong," Jensen said, watching Jared's expression, waiting for some twitch or quirk or frown that would tell him if he was getting through. "I sent the wrong signals or something."

"Dude, you'd kick the ass of-"

"Who says I didn't?" Jensen isn't smiling. "I didn't want that. But then...I don't know. Jeff picked up the vibe, he knew something was wrong, or something - and he asked me, and then he offered, and his hands aren't...uh. I...fuck, Jared, it's Jeff, for Christ's sake. You've looked at him, right? You know what it's like when that kind of attention is focused on you, don't you? You've got Sandy...I mean, you had Sandy, and-"

"You had me," Jared said softly. "You could talk to me about anything."

"Not like that. I was curious. I didn't want to _talk._ " 

"Uh-huh." Jared takes a step closer, then stops. "You suddenly curious about dick in general, or about my dick?"

Jensen blinks. This isn't going exactly how he planned. But then again, he didn't plan out any of it, and it's been out of his control for weeks. No point in hiding now. "I...wasn't sure."

"You sure now?" Another step closer, like Jared was trying to catch the pieces of the story before Jensen locked it all up in the privacy vault. "Because I think you wouldn't ask me, no matter what you wanted. On account of how you think it would fuck everything up." 

Jensen looks up and suddenly Jared's there, right in his space, body against his, hands on either side of his body, holding his hands against the counter. "I don't want anybody else touching you," Jared says, bending his head to touch his lips to Jensen's ear. "I don't want their _hands on you._ "

"Christ," Jensen breathes, and Jared leans into him, forcing him to arch into the counter. He tips his head up and Jared's mouth closes over his. 

Jared's lips move slowly against his, like he half expects to be shoved back, for Jensen to tell him this is crazy. Jared's lips are softly persuasive; he works Jensen's lips apart, nudges between them with soft licks of his tongue, and Jensen pushes back until Jared deepens the kiss. Then Jared pulls back, gives Jensen room to breathe. He struggles to get himself under control, but it's impossible with Jared right there, lashes lowered, watching Jensen's lips, and then his eyes. 

"What now?" Jensen says quietly. 

Jared frees Jensen's hands, but he leans in again, kisses him, more demanding this time. Jensen wastes no time getting his hands into Jared's hair, which provokes a soft moan from Jared. It's like the entire world is opening up, everything right here in Jensen's hands, and he runs his thumbs over Jared's cheekbones, across his closed eyes, claiming by touch. Maybe he doesn't have the right, but it doesn't matter. Not now. 

When he starts to work the buttons of Jared's shirt, Jared catches his hands. "Not here," he says, and Jensen nods. He gives Jared a little shove, heart beating faster at the grin it provokes, and flips off the kitchen light on his way out. 

His bedroom is messy as fuck, clothes everywhere and sheets that haven't been changed in a couple weeks, but Jared doesn't even seem to notice. Jensen tries to toss clothes and pillows on the floor, but Jared's hands are all over him - he's undoing buttons on Jensen's shirt, and they seem to magically be flying out of the holes. Jensen scrabbles for Jared's shirt, gets a few buttons before Jared tugs the thing over his head. It gets stuck halfway; Jared pulls at it in frustration, elbows jutting out. Jensen laughs quietly and yanks it free, tossing it aside because he wants to get back to Jared's mouth. He's fumbling with the fly of his jeans when Jared pushes Jensen back on the bed and strips them off. 

It's like Jensen's never seen Jared before; he looks at him, the shape of his body, the lean muscle, and he's hard for this, for Jared. Jared crawls over him, then slides down beside him, little nips to Jensen's chest, his belly. He fits his hand over the bruise on Jensen's hip and looks up at him, eyes dark with a kind of possession that should irritate the hell out of Jensen, but it just makes him harder. "You heard what I said," Jared says, bending his head to set his teeth against the purple mark. 

"Fucking hell," Jensen gasps, and closes his eyes. Jared's relentless, hands everywhere; Jensen realizes he hasn't asked Jared any of the important questions, like where did he get all this confidence and how many men has he been with, and by the way, he doesn't want their hands on Jared, either, ever, no one else, only his hands, but right then Jared's mouth slides warm and wet over his dick, and Jensen makes a sound from somewhere deep in his chest, a sound of want. A minute later, at the touch of Jared's tongue, he comes, white heat curling up from his belly, no barriers between wanting and having anymore. 

He lays there stunned, the smell of Jared and of sex like a blanket over him, warm and sweet. Then he sits up, pushes Jared, smiles with teeth when he sees Jared arch into the sheets. "Yeah," he whispers, putting his hand around Jared's cock and his mouth on Jared's skin, and he drags Jared to the edge, listens to his guttural commands, _faster_ and _yeah, fuck, do it, Jensen,_ and lets Jared's come spill out across his fingers, watches Jared's beautiful face when he comes. 

When he drops down to the bed, he puts his face in the curve of Jared's neck until Jared rolls them over and looks down at him. It all snaps together then, just the way it should, pieces locking together, nothing missing. He doesn't have enough energy left to talk, and wouldn't if he could; Jared's folding him up against his body, and it's warm, and Jensen gives in to the need to sleep for the first time in weeks. 

 

**

There's a warm face pressed against his back when Jensen wakes at dawn; Jared is sprawled half across him, arms and legs tangled up around him. A slow grin spreads across his face. 

Carefully, he slides out from under Jared's arm and rolls off the bed. He's seen Jared asleep before, but never like this - arms flung across Jensen's bed like it's the most comfortable place he's slept, face mashed into the pillow, mouth slightly open, bare back sliding down into the twisted sheets. Jensen stands and watches him until sunshine fills the room. This is what he wants, and there's relief in the knowing; all he can do now is try to make sure it's real, that it isn't just because he's being displaced from his show, from Jared's side. 

Bathroom door closed, he showers quickly, and then packs a bag in stealthy determination, pulling clothes out of half-packed boxes. Most of his life is in boxes now, ready to ship to wherever life takes him next. His flight is due out at 10, and he will just manage to make it. 

He leaves a note on top of Jared's pants - directions, and then in black ink, block letters, a hopeful invitation: 

_Going home. Come find me there. J._

 

**V.**

The drive from the airport takes three hours from curbside to the middle of nowhere. Jared passes scrub and cattle and grass and open fields, fences shooting off to the horizon while the roads narrow and narrow again, becoming thin threads into the countryside. Each mile eases his body, stretches his lungs so he can breathe again, and joy settles into him as the miles roll by. 

Jensen's new place isn't anything spectacular from the road, just a curved iron gate and more dirt behind. Jared follows the bumpy road through trees that seem to have owned the land for as long as it's been there, tall poplars strangely out of place in such a wide-open space. Nestled at the back of them, the house lurks, a low brick ranch house, modest, a Suburban parked in front. He pulls up behind and parks, then lets the dogs out of the car. They race around the wide drive like they have somewhere to go. 

For a minute, Jared stands there staring at the house, the dogs just background noise, and wonders if this is all a mistake. He hadn't thought about that for longer than it took to flip the note over and read the directions, and then book a flight. Two days later, and now he's wondering if he should have called, if Jensen will be glad to see him. Stupid brain, shooting evil doubts at him. 

Right then the front door opens and Jensen steps out, blue T-shirt and faded jeans, old boots, scruffy down-time whiskers, looking just about as fucking sexy as a human being can look and still be real. His grin is huge and bright, and he looks over at the dogs, who are running up on him at an alarming pace. 

"You brought the beasts," Jensen says, crouching down for dog-hugs, and Jared grins while the dogs slobber all over Jensen like he's a long-lost friend. 

"You got some food for my kids?" he asks, and Jensen grins. 

"What kind of host would I be if I didn't?" 

Jared doesn't even wait for him to stand up before he's hauling Jensen into his arms, but it's different here. There's no need to hurry, no reason they have to impress each other. He's careful with his kiss, because it's important, and there's something he needs Jensen to know. He says it with his hands, with his mouth, no words; he knows Jensen gets it, because he feels Jensen's heart under his hand. 

"Come on," Jensen says, nodding back to the house. "I'll make you a sandwich." 

As it turns out, Jensen can't cook - which Jared knew - but he makes a mean bacon and tomato sandwich - which Jared suspected. He eats a couple of them while Jensen makes small talk, rambling about the size of the ranch (too small for cattle, just big enough for privacy) and the work that has to be done (marking fence lines, meeting neighbors) and the stuff he's been buying for it. Jared listens, and waits to hear something about Jensen's work, what comes next. He's been wondering for weeks, and holding back a few news items of his own. 

If he holds them much longer, they won't be news, they'll be lies of omission. 

"Jen," he says, putting down his sandwich. "You don't talk about projects anymore."

"Yeah," Jensen says. He kicks back in a kitchen chair and throws his booted feet up on the table, which Jared has to laugh at, because he can picture his momma's scandalized reaction to that. "I just...I need some time off, you know? I need to be here with nothin' on my mind but nailing up some shelves and walking around in the sunshine." 

"And fucking me," Jared says, swiping a thumb across his mouth to catch some stray mayo. 

"That too," Jensen says, but his voice has lost any smoothness it has, and now it's rough, unsteady. Their eyes meet, and Jared has to turn all his concentration to the sandwich, or he'll throw Jensen down right there on the floor and make that come true. 

Jensen brings him a beer and a glass, and he pushes the glass aside with one finger, while Sadie busies herself with eating the toe of his shoe. "I have news," he says, picking up some stray bacon. 

"Job news?"

"Sort of. I have a meet for that new Cuaron movie. Maybe an audition, though they're not calling it that."

"Seriously?" Jensen's eyebrows shoot up. "Damn, Jared, that's some top-notch shit."

"I guess."

"And you're down in the mouth because...why, exactly?"

Jared just looks at him until Jensen gets the point. When he does, his expression turns sweetly optimistic, and Jared likes the look of it so much that he gets up and rounds the table and kisses the holy hell out of Jensen, who hangs on to the front of Jared's shirt for dear life so he doesn't pitch over backwards in that chair. 

They don't talk about it anymore for the rest of the day. Jared takes a nap in the master bedroom - Jensen takes all his crap out of the guest bedroom over Jared's protests and tosses it in the master bedroom, his message clear. When Jared wakes he finds Jensen curled beside him, and he throws an arm over Jensen and watches him sleep, the flutter of his lashes against his face, the way his body moves when he burrows deeper into the pillows. 

Dusk brings BBQ - steaks, medium rare, plus potatoes and corn - and dinner out in the garden, where there's a tiled fountain and a tiny pool lit with a thousand blue and yellow lights. They sit side by side in cheap-ass plastic lawn chairs, feet up on the edge of the fountain, and Jared gives in to the urge to take Jensen's hand, to run his fingers over the bones, the fragile skin. 

Work will take him away from this, and he hates the work a little for it. 

He turns Jensen's hand over, drags his fingertips over the palm and feels Jensen's full-body shiver in his own hand. 

"I had to be sure," Jensen says, a thread of a conversation taking place in his head, so Jared's patient and lets it unspool. "That it wasn't just that we were saying goodbye, you know? That it would translate into...more." 

Jared gets it. They're not attached at the hip anymore. They're not Sam and Dean. They're just two guys that did a job, and now the job is done. 

"What we are, Jensen," he starts, then stops, not sure how anything he says can carry all the weight of the things he _means_ to say. Jensen's pulse is so strong beneath his fingers, he can feel it beating under his own skin. "What this is. It's _everything_." And maybe he sounds like a dork, but he's not embarrassed; he only needs to know Jensen understands. 

"You don't think we should take more time?" Jensen sounds so worried, and that's all Jared can stand. He stands up, pulls Jensen easily out of the chair and into his arms. 

"Nope," he says. Jensen relaxes into him, but Jared can tell the words don't touch him. There's only so much Jared can say. Some things have to be shown. 

So Jared takes Jensen to bed, because that's how he translates, how he can get his point across. He traces want all over Jensen's skin, reassurances that make Jensen lose control and grip Jared hard enough to bruise. He pull growls and cries from Jensen that make Jared crazy, force him to slow down so he doesn't lose track of what he's doing and get lost in them. He helps Jensen shed the haze of exhaustion and replaces it with sated sleep, nestled in his arms; he wakes him for more with kisses, grinning into Jensen's sleep-crooked smile. He knows how Jensen tastes when he comes, when he cries out, when he's speaking words into Jared's mouth that Jared doesn't hear and doesn't need to know. 

By the time he's finished convincing Jensen, gentle morning sunlight is creeping through the curtains, and it lulls them both to sleep. 

 

**VI.**

 

Jensen concentrates most of his attention on the ranch. People call to offer friendly advice: hire a decorator, shop with someone who knows what they're doing, whatever. He's not interested in any of that, because he's pretty sure what he wants now, and he's not going to listen to a lot of well-meaning crap to distract him from it. 

There's a lot of wood and soft leather and comfortable rugs, because he likes the way they feel against his bare skin, and he doesn't hear Jared complaining, either. 

He doesn't furnish the guest bedrooms because there's no need, not right now. He's not inviting anyone over, and there's no one sleeping in there for the foreseeable future. 

The kitchen needs some attention, so he puts in a real stove and a better fridge and re-tiles the floor so he won't stub his toe every time he crosses the threshold to the living room. 

All of it is a nice distraction for the fact that he still hasn't found the right part, and Jared's leaving in three days to start shooting that awesome part he landed, and they haven't budged from their little cocoon in two months, and their families are demanding to know why they've dropped off the face of the earth. Not to mention their agents, and Jensen's accountant, who can be a persistent little bastard. 

Jared starts leaving scripts around the house where Jensen is sure to find them - next to the salsa in the fridge, on top of the TV remote, and in the shower. Jensen doesn't say anything about it, but he picks each one up and reads the first few pages. Jared wakes him one afternoon by dropping down on top of him, smelly and dusty from playing with the dogs, and Jensen realizes he's fallen asleep with the latest offering across his chest. It's a positive sign. He was starting to think nothing related to acting would ever appeal to him again. 

"You like that one, huh?" Jared asks, nuzzling the side of Jensen's throat, and Jensen tilts his head back, feels Jared's smile warm on his throat. 

The night before Jared leaves, they don't waste a lot of time on trivial crap like talking and worrying, though Jensen thinks maybe there's a whole lot Jared's not saying. There's certainly stuff he's thought about, things he filters because he's still processing the idea of having this, and what it means, and what comes next. Jared spreads him out on the bed - it's a toss-up, who's spreading who, but Jensen's kind of sun-warm and pliable and greedy, so he wins - and touches him everywhere, big hands pressing him down into the bed so he can get his lips on Jensen's body. 

He turns on his stomach, relaxes, and grips the sheet tight when Jared settles over him, biting and licking his way down Jensen's back. It's good, it's perfect, when Jared's hands are on his ass, Jared's cock is sliding inside him, slow deep strokes when Jared fucks him, the kind that make Jensen crazy. He arches back into Jared, feels Jared drag his hips up and the sounds Jared makes, grunts and gasps, push that spiral of pleasure forward in Jensen. 

Jared stills against him, trembling, and then slips out of him. "What," Jensen starts, but Jared's pulling at him, saying, 

"Turn over." 

Jensen does, spreading his legs to let Jared between, and Jared's mouth covers his, kissing him with the same slow intensity he radiates when he fucks, like Jensen's lips are everything and he has all the time in the world to taste him. Jensen runs his hands over Jared's shoulders, pushes the hair out of his face, which makes Jared grin and pull back. 

A moment later, he's licking Jensen's cock, sliding two fingers into him, and Jensen bucks off the bed. "Christ, warn - oh, Christ," he pants, because Jared's not kidding around, no teasing; he's sucking Jensen hard, strong twisting licks of tongue and sweet pressure, and his fingers crook inside Jensen. Jensen closes his eyes and tries to stay focused, tries not to come, but Jared's doing his best to undo all that control. 

"Don't want to come this way," he finally manages to say, and that's all Jared needs; he keeps his hand on Jensen when he swings over him and guides his own cock back inside Jensen's body. Slow, pressing thrust; slow, wet kiss, again and again until Jensen finally breaks, and again once, twice more until Jared stutters into a halt, his shoulders shaking with the effort when he holds himself still and comes inside Jensen. 

They sleep tangled up, a sticky, disgusting mess. Jensen's going to miss that, too. 

Jared's gone before he wakes the next morning, but there's a note, and it makes him laugh: _Gone to work. Have a nice day, dear._

**

The set is crazy-busy, like all sets are, and Jensen wanders around with his 'you're okay to be here' pass on, looking around at the crew in search of familiar faces. It's a small incestuous industry, so he's sure he'll pass someone he knows soon enough. 

He visits Jared's trailer, doesn't find him there; tries the soundstage. No go there, either. He might be in the commissary. 

Jensen parks himself on the steps of Jared's trailer and waits. 

Boredom strikes ten minutes in, so he pulls out his phone and flips down the contact list, settling on Jeff's number. He doesn't expect him to answer, so he's caught off guard when he does. 

"Jensen, hey! I was starting to think your fingers were broken. What's goin' on?"

"Oh, you know," Jensen says. He grins down at his boots. "Bought a house. Brought home a puppy."

"Does that mean you got your shit together and talked to Jared?"

"Seems so."

Jeff's laugh is warm and happy, and it's as good as a hug across all those miles. "You going to invite me to the housewarming?"

All kinds of raunchy jokes suggest themselves, but Jensen just shakes his head and says, "Got a lot of stuff to work out, first. We've been keeping things to ourselves. Might keep doing that, for a while. Til we figure out what...how..."

"I get it." Jeff's voice is still smiling. "Invite me down, you bastard, or I swear to God I will drop in unannounced and bring goddamn Entertainment Tonight with me." 

"Okay," Jensen laughs. "Sometime next month, maybe. Are you on a shoot?"

"No. And I'll tell you everything that's in the works _when I see you._ "

"Great." Jensen takes a deep breath. One small weight off his chest. "I kind of owe you, man."

"You don't owe me a thing. Ah, gotta go. Say hi to Jared," Jeff says, and hangs up. 

"Hey," a familiar voice says. "You lining up your busy social calendar?" 

Jensen looks up to see Jared standing right in front of him, six foot whatever of incredibly hot and scruffy man. He's pretty sure there's a stupid smile across his own face, because the matching one on Jared's face could light up this whole town. He fumbles behind him for the door handle and steps back into the trailer, Jared pressing him forward, because they have to be inside, now, so Jared can kiss him. 

And Jared does. A lot. Everywhere. But mostly on the mouth, like he's trying to kiss the smile away, only it seems to work in reverse. 

Not that it seems to bother either of them. 

"I went in to talk to Nutter about a series," Jensen tells him later, when Jared has his head on Jensen's thigh and he's half-asleep. 

"Jesus, Jensen, series work again?" That makes Jared sit up and give him a look, so Jensen keeps going. 

"Not as a regular. Not the same kind of hours. It's a recurring role, and it'll give me time to do that part. You know the one." 

"The script you took to bed with you for a week running? The one that got in my way?"

"That's the one." Jensen grins at him. 

"Okay," Jared says, and Jensen's breath hitches when he realizes that this was a negotiation, that they're not independent of each other anymore. Maybe they never were, at least not like he thinks they were. 

It takes him a minute to recover from that, but by then Jared's asking his opinion about his agent, and whether he thinks he should switch to better representation. His hand rests against Jared's chest; Jared's feet hang over the edge of the couch, so he draws his legs up and pretends not to mind. 

There's stuff they aren't dealing with, family stuff, life stuff that's going to have to be talked about, soon. 

One step at a time. 

 

**VII.**

 

Jeff's coming on Tuesday, and the house is a fucking disaster area. 

Jensen buys a tablecloth and a bunch of other chick stuff like Tupperware and mops, cringing all the way through Target while Jared follows along behind, randomly snagging stuff and lobbing in into the cart. 

"You know you love nesting," Jared says, slapping his ass on the way to the car. Jensen shoots him a look so full of filthy, porny promise that Jared stops dead in the middle of the parking lot and almost gets wiped out by some chick in a sputtering Dodge Horizon. He can't take his eyes off Jensen, the way he walks; it's like a portable advertisement for dirty, dirty sex.

Jensen almost crushes Sadie in the foyer when Jared pushes him into the front door and sprawls out over him, but Sadie survives, clambering away from them with an accusing look. Jensen's shirt doesn't survive, though. Or the zip fly of his jeans. Or Jared's underwear. They fuck fast and hard right there on the floor, and when Jensen sits up covered in come and fading bite marks, he sifts the wreckage of his clothing through his hands and starts to laugh. 

"Man, I can't afford the damage from your libido," he tells Jared, who licks Jensen's ear and bursts out laughing right along with him. 

They eat sandwiches for supper and clean the house, which Jared takes to mean 'put everything in neat piles' and Jensen additionally takes to mean 'throw piles in the closets'. Then they stack cups and plates in the sink and stand there staring at them, and it hits Jared: the glasses are green, his favorite color; the sandwiches were ham and cheese, his favorite. 

"Wash the dishes," Jensen says. He holds out a towel. 

"Do the laundry," Jared shoots back, flinging a sponge at Jensen, who counters with a snap of the dry towel. Not nearly as effective as he wants it to be; Jared can't help but yelp and laugh anyway. 

Later they shower off crusted food and soap suds, and snicker at each other like a couple of kids who don't know any better. 

"I should make Jeff's bed," Jensen says, while he's yawning and pulling on some boxers to sleep in. Jared promptly strips off the boxers and tosses them aside, and Jensen manhandles him into bed, climbing on top of him and pretending to be Tarzan or some shit, who knows; Jensen's hot when he goes all toppy, and Jared doesn't have a complaint in the world. 

After midnight, Jared wakes to the sound of rain tapping on the roof. He turns his head, finds the nape of Jensen's neck beneath his lips. When he smiles against Jensen's skin, Jensen stirs, shifts in his arms; he makes a sleepy sound, and then he's out again. 

Jared was raised to believe that if there was a heaven, it must look like Texas, and now he knows it's true.


End file.
